Untitled
by Arcie Lee
Summary: Hate titles. Hate! Belated chapter. Gonna get fluffy for a bit. And crowded.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter I**

A soft _clickclickclick_ was all needed to jolt her out of a light slumber. Her pupils widen to take in the dark room. She focused in front of her, staring intent at the door. Tangled up in sheets and his arms, she felt the steady rise and fall of Murphy's chest as he continued to sleep.

Her eyes shot to the night stand, a crate flipped over with a series of lacey tea dollies poorly knitted together. The moon's beams glinted off the barrel of her semi-automatic pistol, small and easy to handle, unlike the silencer's he always persisted her to use. There had to be at least three shots left and under the bed was another two bullet castings.

The door knob twisted slightly and the intruder quickly realized there was a chain to secure the door. He wouldn't have any patients to fumble with that, she realized. She willed herself to move, to react.

She grabbed the pistol and rolled over on top of Murphy, throwing them both on the other side of the bed just as the door was broken threw with an explosion of bullets. Frantic, she dug her arm underneath the bed and pulled out the castings then stood up and fired two shots. One ripped threw his shoulder and the other went into his chest. The man fell to the floors in convulsions, only for two more to step threw the door frame and over the dying man.

Shaking, she struggled to reload, swallowing hard and pushing the image of the man, puking and choking on his vomit and blood, out of her mind. She went to shoot again; it hit lower and the man's knee cap exploded. He collapsed on the floor, screaming. The other man shot at her, the breeze of bullets whizzing by, the shattering pain of the one that bit into her arm.

She dropped her own gun and jammed two fingers into the bullet wound to stop the bleeding. A hand grabbed her shoulder and threw her down. Her head cracked against the tile floor and she looked up at Murphy, firing one pistol while whipping out the other. His face was cold and hard, his eyes lit and focused. She looked back at her arm; blood was pouring between the cracks of her fingers.

Suddenly, Murphy grabbed her and pulled her to her feet. "They'll have friends," he said, gesturing to the several bleeding bodies. He ran over to their dresser, crude and made of oak that they found together at a consignment shop, and ripped threw the drawers, pulling out castings and cash and throwing it all into a worn duffel bag. She scanned the room and retrieved her own little pistol and a pair of jeans. Her arm throbbed but she managed them on and shoved the gun into her waist band. "C'mon," she looked up at Murphy, who had his hand out. His was smooth and cool, hers moist and warm. He pulled her over and started to bandage her arm with a ripped shirt. "It'll hold until we get to Connor."

She nodded numbly. He grabbed her hand again and they made her way to the door. She tripped over a man's leg, but he righted her and they were gone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter II**

Taking the back alleys, she stumbled and struggled to keep with his long strides. Her head throbbed and her arm burned; each eyelash felt like a pound and it took everything to keep her eyes open.

He wrapped an arm around her, holding her up. Her eyes had begun to glaze over and her grip on his shoulder went limp. He scooped her up into his arms and continued, whispering, "Stay with me."

Connor's apartment complex was shit, crumbling and moldy. The third flight of stairs, he felt her entire body relax. He came up to a door, the paint peeling off, and kicked it. Keep alive, just a bit longer, he thought. Connor, dammit, come get the fucking door. He kicked it twice more and heard the sound of a bolt being twisted. Conner was bare-chested and disheveled and reeked of alcohol, straight Jim Bean, but the moment he saw them, he sobered.

Murphy pushed aside and laid her down on the ratted mattress. Her face was pale and beads of sweat clung to her forehead and upper lip. Murphy ran his fingers threw her curls and tugged gently. He held her hand and brought it to his lips.

Blood had dried into the cracks of her lips, there was still faded shiner from a bar scrap several days before the wedding. Despite her state, her face was relaxed and angelic. Her last conscious thought and her head sunk into the mattress, I love this smell, rustic and cologne, just like old times.

Murphy looked up at Connor, who had a pot of water boiling and was tearing up clean shirts for new bandages. He enlaced his fingers into her hair and pulled tightly.

_Two years earlier.._

"Now?"

"Murph, calm the fuck down," Connor snapped, his eyes never leaving the house. Every light was on and there had been a combination of screaming and gunshots for a good fifteen minutes.

"We gonna spend the entire fucking night out here? Duce is waiting." Murphy asked, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He dug into his pockets to find his pack of Marlboros. He was about to light it when Connor slapped his leg, making him drop the cigarette. "Why did you--"

"Shut up!"

The front door burst open and two people half stumbled, half ran out. Behind them, the house exploded, with such a force it threw the boys back, and in moments was engulfed in flames. "You dumb fucking cunt!" The man screamed at the girl. He pulled a revolver out of the waist of his jeans and aimed it her. "I'm going to fucking kill you!"

She collapsed and he reached down and grabbed her by the collar of her shirt and yanked her back up. She struggled to stay upright but her leg gave way. "Stand the fuck up!" He screamed at her.

Her body shook from repressing sobs, "I can't!"

Murphy flinched but Conner grabbed his shoulder, "Don't even think about playing hero."

He had her on her knees now, the barrel of the gun pressed between her eyes. The fire roared behind them, ash covering everything like first snow's fall. "Look at the house," he said threw clenched teeth.

She stared straight ahead, her eyes widen when she caught sight of two men crouched down. "Fuck, she spotted us." Connor hit the dirt, pulling Murphy with him.

The man didn't notice her sudden interest and cracked the barrel across her face, splitting open her bottom lip. She looked down at the ground; the blood dripped off of her chin and formed a small puddle in the dirt. Her ankle throbbed and she leaned the other way to take off some pressure. She looked over at her their home, her and Eddie's. Inside his corpse was burning, three bullets in his brain. She could hear the howls and screams of their German Shepherd.

"I want that to be your last sight before I kill you. " He cocked the revolver.

She closed her eyes and tried to imagine Eddie, alive, in front of their home, completely intact, with her puppy, who wouldn't be burning, digging up their flowers. She wouldn't let him win.

Murphy was on his feet and barreled into the man's side. They both went down and he smashed his fist into the gunmen's face. The girl let out a yell and scrambled backwards. The gunmen jumped up and tackled Murphy to the ground, pinning him. He smashed his head against Murphy's nose and there was a loud pop. Connor cursed under his breath and ran to aid his brother. He kicked the man in his side; he groaned and rolled off. Connor grabbed the gun and smashed it into the man's face, again and again till the man stopped twitching. "Murph, you alright?"

"My fucking nose!" He cried out.

"Get the girl, we gotta go."

Murphy dragged her to her feet and she nearly collapsed again, "What's wrong?"

"My ankle."

"Put your arm around me," he said as he slipped his around her waist. "Can you walk with me?"

She nodded.

They moved to the car where the Duce was waiting, engine running. Connor jumped in shot gun and Murphy threw himself and the girl in the back. She yelped again. "Oh, shit, your ankle!" He twisted himself around. "I'm sorry."

"That's okay," she whispered, pulling herself up and leaning up against the car door. She closed her eyes and exhaled deeply.

He took off her foot into his hands and pulled it into his lap. She flinched. "I'm seeing if it is broken," he said, his fingers pressing slightly on her ankle. "Just sprained," he informed her. He took a second look. Her eyes were green with flecks of gold and brown, intent but warm; her face was round and fair, long black curls framed her face. Lovely. "What's your name?"

"Brodie. Keese."

"Murphy MacManus."

Connor looked back at the Murphy eye locked and chuckled to himself. It said smitten all over his face.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's note: **iamthatplace: I'm glad you like my story and I hope I can maintain your interest. Just-a-moment: Nothing is more mortifying for an author than spelling errors. I can't seem to get that proofreader whatnot. Help? Glad you like the story! Reid's Girl: I know! Why does Connor always get all the cutty?** Also** any ideas for a title would be awesome since I am completely void of any and all title-ish ideas. Keep reading. **End **

**Chapter III**

Sun poured through the window onto her face. She groaned and rolled over; feeling the mattress and comforter, her eyes flew open. Pain shot throughout her body and she groaned again, _Oh God, why couldn't I just be dead?_

She sat up and looked around. The room was plain: asylum white walls, another bed, and a turned over crate as a night stand. Threw the doorway she saw a man sitting at a table, drinking coffee with a distaste expression. He glanced over at her and quickly slapped another man's elbow. "She's up."

They walked in, both about same height, one a dirty blonde and the other she remembered as Murphy. "How ya feeling?" He asked.

The other abandoned his coffee for a cigarette. "You remember anything?"

She was bleary eyed but alert. She looked back and forth at the two, scraping her memory. Her eyes fell down at her blood stained shirt and it slammed into her. Eddie's blood. "Oh God."

"Put ya head between your knees," the dirty blonde instructed. She fell forward, gasping for air. "Control your breathing. You're alright, now."

"What. Happened?"

He let the smoke curl up from his lips and before he could say anything she held up a hand, "Let me have one." His brows shot up, but he leaned forward and gave her his half cigarette. She took a long drag, eyes closed, and her face relaxed. "Go on."

"You were about to get your brains blown out but Murph here fucking blindsided—"

"Wait. What were you doing there?"

"What were you doing there with a creep like that?"

She exhaled sharply, "That was my home as of last night."

The boys exchanged glances but didn't say anything.

"You were what? Walking about and decided to play hero?"

"You should be fucking grateful. You didn't exactly have the situation at your benefit."

She didn't have a quick retort and just leaned back. "I'm sorry. I mean, thank you. I just—where am I?"

"Our little shit apartment, in the 'ghetto' of Boston."

"You want some coffee?" Murphy finally said something. "Its awful, seeing Connor couldn't toast bread to save his life."

Her head throbbed from lack of caffeine. "Anything will suffice as of now." Murphy left the room and she looked at Connor. "Why save me?"

"Impulse. Instinct. What ever you want to call it." He leaned forward, holding out an empty beer can. "Here, ash."

She flicked the cigarette and Murphy returned with a mug. "Thank you," and she took a hard swallow only to cough and gag. "They're grinds in this!"

"Told you it was awful," Murphy settled down on the other bed. "You feeling alright?" That brought attention back to her throbbing shoulder and ankle, but she didn't say anything. "Are you hungry?"

"Depends if Connor made it or not."

He made a face and Murphy laughed, "We can go out and get you something, actually."

She shook her head, "I don't think I could stomach anything yet."

A car horn went off outside and Connor looked out the window then at Murphy. "Duke." He looked at Brodie. "We're leaving for a couple of hours."

"Sleep," Murphy said, standing up and grabbing his black coat. She opened her mouth to protest but he held up a hand, "You're body must be exhausted. There's Advil in the cupboard somewhere."

Once they left she jumped to her feet and scampered to the bathroom. Her reflection shocked herself. Her hair was matted and tangled with blood and dirt, half her faced was a deep shade of blue. She bent over the sink and turned on the water. She slowed her breathing, tears stinging her eyes. Grabbing a bar of soap, she scrubbed down her face and neck and arms, a stream of dirty water circling down the drain. She found a comb and tore threw her hair till it was tangle free and started to strip down.

The shower was hot and quick. She rubbed her skin raw, as to remove everything that happened the previous night. Stepping out, she dried herself and looked down at her dirty clothes. Unappealing, she decided to dig in one of the boys drawers and settled on a Led Zeppelin shirt and boxers and curled back in bed. She cried herself back to sleep.

- - -

That night, stumbling up the stairs, Murphy inhaled deeply. "The fuck?"

"Is something burning?" Connor took the steps two at a time. The brothers burst threw the door to see Brodie standing there, back to them, stirring. The little kitchen table was set up with their mix-matched silver and paper plates. "The hell are you doing?" Connor asked. "Is that my shirt?"

She looked over her shoulder, "I'm making lasagna! With steamed carrots, snow peas, squash, and broccoli." Brodie pulled out the pan from the over and placed it on the table. "Yes this is your shirt, I hope you don't mind." He nodded numbly. "Sit and eat."

"We have an oven?" Connor looked at Murphy.

He shrugged and sat down while Brodie cut out a portion for him.

"Where did you get all this?"

Brodie pulled out three Dasani bottles and placed them at each setting before sitting herself down. "I had about a grand on me from last night." She scooped some vegetables onto her plate. She felt their eyes on her, "I didn't retain it in a sexual manner!" She took a bite. "I made a deal. Cocaine."

"One fucking deal?" Connor's mouth was full and he had sauce on his chin.

"Save up of deals," she corrected.

They chewed silently, the boys savoring a motherly-made meal, first in a long time, and Brodie debated cleaning her plate and walking out the front door, gone forever. "I got new sheets since I bled on your last ones, by the way."

Murphy looked up at her, a moment longer than needed, "Thank you. And this is delicious."

She smiled, "Thank you. Three cheese lasagna. My grandma showed me how to make it. How was your day?"

They looked at each other and said nothing. She didn't attempt at conversation again and they finished the meal in silence. Brodie stood up and began to clear the table, "There's beer in the fridge."

Connor pulled two out and threw one to Murphy, "Wonderful. I wanna keep her around, Murph." He said settling in front of the television.

"I'm not some fucking pet!" She called from the kitchen. She turned around to throw away the plates when she saw a man with a head of gray hair standing in the doorway.

"Smells good."

She screamed.

In seconds, the boys rushed in, guns drawn. "Duke! The hell you sneaking up on her like that?" Connor laughed, putting his gun away.

"I'm sorry, Miss, I didn't mean to frighten you."

Heart still racing she gave a small smile, "No, I'm just a bit edgy, sorry." She looked back at the left over lasagna. "Are you hungry? Oh," she wiped her hands on the boxers and leaned forward, "I'm Brodie."

"We met last night."

"You were there too?" She looked back at the twins. "Why?"

The three looked at one to another and still said nothing. She rolled her eyes and went to grab herself a beer and plopped down into a chair. "Fine then." She sighed. "It's not like I need to know, right?"

"Its best you don't, Miss," Duke said solemnly. "Can you excuse us?"  
She went to the bathroom and washed her face; she squirted toothpaste on her finger and scrubbed it onto her teeth. _I miss good hygiene_.

Coming back out, she was back in her jeans and bloody shirt. The three men looked up at her. "Where you going?" Connor asked.

She shrugged, "Get a hotel room or something. I can't just fucking stay here."

"The hell you're just leaving," Murphy said, standing up to block the door. "You'll stay here."

"Where will I sleep?" She asked.

"My bed."

"And where will you sleep?"

"The point is, you're staying," Connor cut in. "You can't just fucking waltz out like last night didn't happen."

She looked at him steadily. "Why?"

"Chrissake, why? A man was fucking about to kill you in cold blood. There has to be more to it then you cutting him short." Connor pushed out the fourth chair. "What happened last night?"

"I need to sit down and spill out my story when I can't even get a straight answer about where you two have been all day?"

"Stay," Murphy said firmly. "Please."

And she did. Brodie took up Murphy's bed, which he obligingly gave up. She cleaned up, adding a women's touch to the crusty bachelor's pad, and cooked for them, groceries she bought with her own funding. They never pressed if she was to leave or not, either.

- - -

The next night, the boys came home to no dinner. "I wanna go out," Brodie said, scurrying around to find her other shoe. "I want a job."

They exchanged glances, "Where we eating?" Connor asked, pulling his jacket back on.

"Mario's Resturante. I used to go there all the time. I don't know if he'll remember me, it's been two years."

"My perfect little Italian _sorto_!" Mario cried out the moment they stepped through the door. "I never thought my eyes would grace beauty again! Who are these handsome boys with you?" He rushed to her and kissed her on each cheek.

Brodie giggled, "These are my—" she stopped. "My friends. Murphy and Connor, this is Mario."

After handshakes, he pulled them towards the back, "I give you the best seats in the house! Antonio! Menus! _Rapidamente_!"

"He's very…enthusiastic." Connor said.

"Obsessive, more or less," she took a sip of her water. "But he has some of the best Italian food in Boston."

A waitress came over and took their orders. "How did you find this place?" Murphy asked.

"When I was this artsy teenager, me and my friends came in here all the time. They moved on and I got a job as a server."

"And you want to start that again?"

"Yes."

"Fine by me," said Connor. "But we'll be walking you to and from work."

"But, I'm not technically in any immediate danger."

"What makes you figure that?" Murphy's mouth was full of breadstick and Alfredo sauce.

"The papers reported my death in the fire. I'm dead, right now."

"Shouldn't you call some family and let them know otherwise?"

"Naw, I've lost contact with them all two years ago."

Their food was set in front of them and Connor took a huge mouthful before asking, "Why is everything two years ago with you?"

"That's when I met Eddie."

"Who's Eddie?" Murphy asked.

"He was in the house."

HeHehh

They didn't press right away and all that could be heard was the clinking of silverware on china plates and soft chewing. Since she gave no further explanation of Eddie, Connor asked, "Who was Eddie?"

"My fiancé."

"You were engaged?"

"Thus the term 'fiancé'."

He pointed his fork at her. "Getting cute with me now, eh?"

She gave a small laugh. "We were engaged, recently, actually. It would be two months tomorrow."

"Again with the two's," Murphy commented. "You miss him?"

"Yeah."

"Didn't sound ass too enthusiastic. Didn't you love him?"

"To a point." They both stopped chewing and stared at her. "Don't get me wrong, he was a great man, but it wasn't like I was head over heels for him. We were compatible. He had something I craved. Stability."

"And he was fine with the fact you dealt out kilos of cocaine to rich teenagers?"

She laughed again, harder. "Actually, he was a drug lord. Dealt it to the Mafioso."

"Engaged to a drug lord?" Connor scraped around his plate to get any excess food. "In a way, it suits you."

"So, why did that man try and kill you?"

"He was actually there to kill Eddie, which he succeeded in doing."

"What did he do to piss someone off so much?"

"The Yakavetta family, one of their kids was turning twenty-one. They asked for twenty-one kilos of cocaine as a present for him."

"Christ."

"Eddie was done though, he wanted out. His sources were drying up, mostly because of the series of drug busts last year. He wouldn't be able to produce that much but the Yakavetta's, its like, if you don't do it, they'll kill you." She fell silent as the server's cleared their table and filled their waters. "Eddie packed half of it with cocaine and the other store bought sugar. He figured, we'd get the money and leave, just drop off the face of the earth." She stood up and pulled out some cash. "Obviously, they found out before we could disappear."

Murphy held up his hand, "It's on us."

"Mario!" She called out as they made their way to the door. "When do I start?"

Mario blew kisses upwards, "Thank the Lord! My _sorto_ returns to me! You come tomorrow at twelve. Wear darks jeans and get white tennis shoes."

"So what about you guys?" She asked as she pushed the door open. "What do you do?"

Murphy looked at Connor, who was lighting up a Marlboro, and said, "We like to help people."

"What? Volunteering? You teachers or something?"

"More like, we help good people by getting rid of bad people."

She stopped and looked back and forth between the twins. "Like, hit men? Is that why you were there? To get Eddie?"

"No," Connor blew out the smoke, "I mean, in a sense, we are, but we weren't there for Eddie."

She looked confused. "That's it? You go around killing who think is bad?"

"It's more than just that—"

"Then just tell me. I fucking blurted out everything to you two. If we're going to be living together then there needs to be trust." She stormed up the stairs and Murphy looked at Connor.

"Temper. Like Ma."

"Irish, Ma or not."

"So, do we tell her?"

"She says she can handle it."

"Don't they always though?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter IV**

She stumbled into the apartment, too pissed to see clearly. She ripped off her jacket and opened up the closet door; she threw it in and it caught onto something on the shelf and everything fell down. There was an explosion of newspaper articles all over the floor. She dropped to her knees, cursing under her breath, and began to pick them up. "What the—?"

They were torn at the edges, some were beginning to yellow. Bold headlines read 'Saints Strike Again' and 'Saints: Friend or Foe?'. She inhaled sharply, picking up a Wanted Ad with three familiar faces.

"Fuck, Murph." She turned to see Connor standing in the doorway. "She found Rocco's clippings."

"You're the Saints?" Her voice didn't reprimand, but grew soft.

"Brodie, we're not…murderers—"

"No, stop. My sister, she was in the courtroom that day with Joe Yakavetta." She held up a fistful of the articles, "She wrote these. You changed her, her entire view on life. She followed your story. She helps make you this." She laughed. "It would figure you egomaniac boys would keep them."

Murphy gathered them up and threw them back into the shoe box, "Hey, our friend Rocco collected the first few that came out and we just kept at it."

"And Duke?"

"Our father, but he prefers Duke," Connor lit up a Marlboro. "Da makes him feel too old."

She looked back and forth between the twins, "That's what you do all day then?" They nodded. "Oh." She went over to the kitchen and pulled out three beers from the refrigerator. "What else you hiding?"

A dozen beers later and half a bottle of Jack and Sky, "So how didya fucking loose your virginity?" Brodie squealed, pointing her cigarette at Connor; she held a shot glass, half filled with Jack, in her other.

Connor blushed, "I fucked my Mathematics teacher so she would give me the passing grade I needed to pass my senior year."

"I fucking fucked that class, once she realized I wouldn't give it up quite so easy," Murphy threw in.

"But you were already tainted before that!"

Brodie nearly choked on her drink, "Murph lost his virginity first?"

"To our babysitter!" Connor crowed. "She was seventeen and he was twelve."

"That's sick!"

"What can I say?" Murphy shrugged. "I'm a stud."

"Fucking bullshit you are!" Connor yelled.

"What about you, Miss Priss?" Murphy teased Brodie. "Or are you still saving it for that fucking special guy?"

She laughed again, "I was sixteen. In my parents Rec Room, on the billiards table. Three thrusts and I became a woman."

The boys screamed with laughter and Brodie reluctantly joined them. Tears streaming down their cheeks, it came to a point they forgot what was funny to begin with. Murphy watched her, head thrown back, entire body shaking with genuine laughter; her hazel eyes glittered with tears. She slowed and caught his gaze, still coughing up bits of giggles, wiping her face. "What are you fucking looking at?"

He shook his head, "Nothing."

She searched around her, "Where's the cigarettes?"

The three of them looked around. Murphy leaned forward and she pulled them out from his left ass cheek. "You fucking crushed them!"

"Fuck, I always do that."

"Ah," she slowly pulled out the last, flattened Marlboro. "Dibs."

Connor reached forward and tried to swat it out of her mouth. She shrieked, and leaped to her feet, still trying to light it. "Wench!" He cried out. She rushed to the bathroom and slammed the door. She came back out, cigarette lit and looking victorious. Seeing Connor's disappointment, she laughed, "I'll go buy more!"

"I'll go with you," Murphy said quickly, grabbing his coat.

The night was cold, their frosty exhale dissipated back into the air. She stumbled over and wrapped her arm around his waist and he draped his across her neck. "I wonder how you boys don't get vagina every fucking night."

He laughed, "How do you figure that?"

"Dark, mysterious, polite but forceful. You even have the fucking accents. Any American woman goes nuts for an accent."

He laughed again and pulled her closer just as she stumbled. "It's rather difficult to keep anything going with what we do."

"Oh?"

"'Sorry, honey, that I was late and all. Had to iron up a couple bullet holes in my arm.'"

She giggled, "But at least you and your brother get along famously."

"He's family."

"Other than Duke?"

"There's Ma, but in the states I just consider Connor as it." They came up to a convenience store and he pushed the door open for her. "What about you?"

"I have an older sister and two younger brothers. One is dead now and the other joined the Navy SEALS." She sighed, pulling out some crumpled bills and throwing them onto the counter. "Marlboro Reds. I don't ever hear from the other two."

"What about your parents?"

"They'll have nothing to do with me now."

"How come?"

"My mom and dad were insane white supremacists. My dad even started some hierarchy in the Ku Klux Klan."

"And?"

"To politely put it, Eddie was a niggar."

"Oh."

"Want one?"

He nodded and she placed both cigarettes in her mouth and lit them at the same time. She handed one to Murphy. "So, you're not some fucking raving racists?"

She shook her head. "Only Mattie, but he died. I was too, but that changed in the fifth grade when I beat up this little black boy because I figured my dad would be proud or whatever. He was. The principal and my dad argued and all I could think was how that kid bled. Like, I fucking cracked his nose open and he bled everywhere. And," she took a huge drag and started to laugh and choke on the smoke at the same time.

"And what?"

"I can't believe I am telling you this. This is so dumb."

"No, you started it, now you have to finish it."

"Fine. His blood was red just like mine." She shrugged her shoulder. "I became some fucking hippie, artsy teenager."

"I don't think I could see you like that."

She laughed, "Well, I was." She pushed him playfully. "Tell me something about you."

"What do you want to know?"

"Anything."

"Well," he looked off up at the sky. "Me and Connor, we had this friend, Rocco. He was sweet, impulsive, and stupid. We brought him into the fucking Saints. I fucking pushed him, to keep up with us, and it fucking got him killed."

"How do you figure?"

Murphy gapped for words, "He, Rocco fucking put out everything for us to do what was needed to be done. He provided us with names and places. When they got us, he took the blame for everything. They killed him. They fucking broke his little fingers and shot him right in front of us."

They walked in silenced, Brodie at a complete lost for words. Before the entered inside, she grabbed him and threw her arms around his torso, hugging him tightly. He was taken off guard, but relaxed and wrapped his arms around her. "I doubt he would want you to hate yourself. Live everyday for him."

She stumbled upstairs and he watched her, at a lost for words.

- - -

Present day: he couldn't sleep. Connor walked in on him, still sitting next to Brodie, one hand enlaced in her hair, the other on top of her hand. Her body tensed up as another coughing fit ruptured from her startling Murphy. Dark circles framed his ice blue eyes, and his face had a red print from the comforter. "Christ, mate. Go sleep. I'll watch her."

Murphy had come to a point of physical exhaustion and that he couldn't muster the strength to argue. He climbed to his feet and scuffled out to the living room and fell face first into the couch.

Smecker had stopped by earlier, doctor in tow. Brodie had been feeling feverish earlier, simple respiratory infection from her smoking, but the massive blood loss had brought it to pneumonia. "With the severity of this case, you waited a bit longer that I would have recommended," The doctor took off his glasses and rubbed a hand down his face, "but under your circumstances, you did what you could." He tucked them into his shirt pocket. "She'll need plenty of fluids, cranberry juice and water, and if she comes too with any mild pain, nothing stronger than Advil, Motrin, Rufen, so on. And don't repress the coughing; it's the only reprieve her lungs will get." The doctor stopped at the door and looked back at the twins and Smecker. "I will be back with an antibiotic as quickly as possibly."

It was the next day and no antibiotic. Murphy closed his eyes and winced when he heard the violent coughing from the next room. Smecker said everything had to be low key, nothing out of the ordinary for the boys, but there was another life in play, one that was endanger.

"Closing your eyes and pretending won't get you rested."

Murphy looked over to see Smecker sitting and reading the newspaper. "What's taking your man so long?"

Smecker folded it up sloppily and lit up a cigarette. He took a long drag and offered his pack to Murphy. "That man is a highly reputable physician for the Mafioso, I'm surprised he managed to come to us and get back without being killed."

Murphy tensed up. Mafioso. "That's fucking stupid. How do you know he's not just some fucking inside man?"

Smecker looked over and smiled, "I trust him."

"You can get fucked over by friends--"

"We're a little more intimate that just 'friends'."

Murphy flew to his feet, his face red, "I don't have time for your fucking boyfriend to fuck around with the Mafioso! That's my wife in there dying!"

A hand clasped into his shoulder. He looked behind to see Duke, standing there. No one even heard him come in. "Lie down Murphy."

He twisted away and stormed back into the bed room. He saw Connor with a damp cloth wiping away blood from the corner of her mouth. Murphy walked to the other side and leaned over and kissed her forehead. "Hell of a honeymoon." Connor said.

Murphy gave a short laugh, "Tell me about it."

"I will go out and find him," they looked behind to see Duke standing in the doorway. "I will be back soon." He turned to leave but Murphy called out. "Yes?"

"Thank you."

Duke slipped out the front door and Murphy crashed onto the couch again, his eyes heavy with sleep. Rain drops pelted against the window; its rhythmic taps lulled him to sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's note: **Reid's Girl: Thank you. Keep reading. GoddessLaughs: Thank you very much, I'm glad you like it. I love your story too. Keep writing. **Also **I am nothing but a humble author who writes for her own enjoyment. However, comments are very much appreciated. **End**

**Chapter V**

Several beers and three shots was hardly enough to make her vomit, especially several hours later of indigestion, but Brodie was crouched down, head hanging, throwing up any form of food from the past twenty-four hours. "You a one beer queer, are you?" She looked behind to see Connor standing in the doorway. He moved towards her and pulled her hair back.

"Fuck off," she choked out before her insides came up again.

He rubbed her back, "Let it out, love. Sure make you feel a helluva lot better."

She nodded meekly, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "Fuck," she spit. "I need to get tennis shoes."

"I'll get you some coffee and aspirin."

"Hell no!" She started to stand. "I'll make the coffee."

As they walked into the kitchen he commented, "You didn't drink that much, I thought."

Brodie poured herself a cup of water, "I don't know. Maybe it's just an upset stomach." She opened up the coffee maker and groaned. "Connor. I bought fucking filters for you to use. No more toilet paper." She turned it over and began to clean out the grinds with her fingers. "You two coming in for dinner?"

He shook his head, "No, love, we got an errand today. But tonight we're taking you to McGinty's."

"McGinty's?"

"Our little bar, since we went to your Mario's and all."

"Fair enough. I'll probably get out around ten or so."

"Which gives us the entire night to booze away."

Murphy stumbled into the kitchen, his hair disheveled and his eyes squinted. "The fuck you two doing up so early?" He looked at Brodie, who was scraping chunks of toilet paper and coffee grinds. "He fucking put toilet paper in the maker again?"

"I work with what I fucking had—"

"I'm making a fresh batch," Brodie interrupted, pulling down the canister of coffee grinds.

"What smells like…sick?"

Brodie threw Connor a hard look. "Probably the plumbing fucked up again." He lit up two cigarettes and handed one to Murphy.

At the end of her shift, she came out seventy-five richer which was decent for an empty Wednesday night. Slipping on Murphy's oversized sweater, she trotted outside. Snowflakes trickled from the sky and a lone lamp post lit up a tall and broad silhouette. Murphy. "I thought you guys had 'errands' to do."

"Always can make time for the newest addition."

"What? No inauguration? I can just go in with a gun? Do I get a necklace too?"

Murphy laughed while digging into his pocket for his Marlboros. "Fuck."

"What?"

"Crushed them fucking again."

"A cigarette is a cigarette. Light me one."

He handed her one with a slightly crooked filter. She inhaled deeply. "I love the snow."

"Aye. Me too." They came around to the apartment.

She rushed inside and emerged about ten minutes later a completely different person. Beneath her usual jeans and old band shirts, was a shapely Bettie Page figure clad in black, sheered-laced dress with turquoise slip underneath. It was sleeveless, showing off the soft curve of her neck to her shoulder, a low neckline that showed of cleavage usually hidden under an Aerosmith or Led Zeppelin logo, and a strip of black satin that wrapped around her waist to accentuate her hour glass figure. Her curls were brushed and she had a hint of mascara and gloss on her rosy lips; she no longer needed concealer for the bruises on her face anymore.

They gaped for moment until Connor blurted, "Christ. Who knew there was woman underneath?"

"Oh, fuck off."

"In all honesty, you clean up well. I didn't even realize you had tits till now. Fucking good size one at—"

"Fuck it. I'm changing."

Murphy caught her elbow and pulled her in close till her lips touch her ear. "You look lovely." His voice returned to normal pitch. "Come on. Let's get to McGinty's. Doc's been wanting to meet you." He winked her. "I'll grab your coat."

"Where's Duke?"

"Out." Connor replied, holding a cigarette in his lips.

"That's all?"

"The fuck he tells us anything."

Murphy slipped her coat up onto her shoulders and grabbed the door for her, "Let's go."

Walking inside, in was sparsely crowded. They walked up to the bar where and old was standing, wiping a mug down with a towel. "Boys! What brings ya t-t-t-to my bar tonight?"

"This is Brodie," Murphy twirled her. "We brought out for a boys night."

"Hardly a b-b-b-b, hardly a man you think? FUCK. ASS." He turned to the side as if he was going to sneeze. "Nice to meet you Miss Brodie. They talked a lot about you. You look b-b-b-beauty, you look lovely, I mean." He sighed, exhausted almost from conversation. "Beers all around?"

"Yes, Doc," Connor leaned over and clasped him on the back. "You read our minds exactly."

She leaned back against the bar and looked around. Off by the juke box was a group of teenagers, in the retro eighties get up, digging in their tore jeans for spare change. The Jackson Five's ABC blared throughout the bar. Brodie lip synched along perfectly and smiled over at Murphy. "Someone dance with me."

"Murphy," Connor drained his beer and gestured for another one. "He took to it when Ma fucking made us take lessons. Trying to refine us at thirteen."

"Too bad, he was a little slut by then," she pushed him playfully.

Murphy grabbed her hand and pulled her to the middle. She looked around, blushing. "No one else is dancing!" She started for the bar but he grabbed her.

"Does that bother you?" He asked, twirling her. "I don't mind the limelight." He dipped her. "Your tits do looking amazing," he snapped her back up and she swatted his arm.

"You're so suave, Mr. MacManus."

"Oh, how I try for the ladies."

"You're not a shitty dancer."

"You wouldn't be either if you would fucking let me lead."

"If I give you that control, I might as well wear pearls when I make you boys dinner."

"Only if its pearls and nothing else."

The song ended and she pulled away, smiling shyly. A slower song came on, a 1940s slow tune. He grabbed her and pulled her back, "This was always my forte." He pulled her in, one hand on the curve of her hip, the other holding her hand. "Relax into me," he whispered, he swayed back and forth, holding her tightly.

There was a tap on his shoulder, one of the retro teens stood there. "I wanna cut in."

"No, fuck off," Brodie growled.

Defeated, he returned to his friends.

"That was nice," he laughed.

"I hate being interrupted."

The song ended as well and Connor came over with two beers. "Come on, let's fucking play billiards."

"I'll fucking beat both your asses."

Murphy released, "You're that fucking good, right?"

"And better."

She wracked them and broke them, sinking two strips in. She cleared the table for all save one, which she missed purposely. Brodie handed the pool stick to Connor. "Your turn."

"She's blowing you, mate. You're done." Someone called over to them.

Connor flipped them off and sunk one solid in. He leaned forward and lined up when Brodie intervened with, "Save that one," and broke his concentration.

"What?" He stood up. "Why?"

"It's the easiest shot." It was teetering on the edge. "Save it."

"No."

She shrugged her shoulder and chugged her beer while Connor made his shot. The cue ball backspin and was pinned by a stripe and the eight ball leaving him without a shot. "Don't say a fucking word."

"But," she sunk her stripe. "I think loser should buy me and Murph beer."

"What if you loose?"

She looked up at him and smiled, "Corner pocket." It rolled in effortlessly.

"Bitch."

"Slut."

"Wench."

"Cunt."

"I still won, either way." She smiled. "Now where's that beer?"


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's note:** Belated? Yes. My apologies. Its gonna get fluffy for a bit. The calm before the storm. Heh. Sorry it took so long, GoddessLaughs.

**Chapter VI**

She was throwing up again, more violent than last morning. Murphy twisted her hair back, brushing wisps of curls from the back of her neck. "What did you have last night?"

Two beers. One when they got there and the one she made Connor buy her. Not even a happy buzz from that, but she was puking her insides out like a frat boy the Sunday after. "God. Kill me." She groaned.

"Maybe you should go see a doctor. Maybe it's a stomach virus or something." Connor suggested, chugging down his grind free coffee, casually leaned up against the doorway.

"I got work." She gripped the sides of the toilet, her knuckles white.

"I'll call it off," Murphy offered. "You should probably go down to the free clinic this afternoon."

She forced herself to stand; she fell back against the wall and rubbed her hand over her face, "I will before I go in. I promise."

Later that afternoon, she was surrounded by thin blue lines. The knot that had formed in her stomach had moved up into her throat. _Fuck me._

She had left the clinic, determined to prove him wrong. _You fucking idiot,_ she had screamed at him. She took six pregnancy tests from the shelves in the convenience store she and Murphy were in just last night and all six said the same thing the doctor had.

_Miss Keese, you're pregnant._

She called bullshit. She hadn't missed a cycle in her life.  
He explained bleeding and spotting was normal during the first trimester and that'll reduce to infrequent spotting during her last two trimesters.

She sunk to the floor in the bathroom. She brought her knees to her chin and rested on them. Fucking pregnant. It was Eddie's, she was sure, he'd been the only one she had been fucking the past two years. How her parents will love her having a little mixed baby.

_Does this mean I'm keeping it?_ Abortion was always something that didn't settle with her. Her entire life she was raised right wing, full on Republican.

And the twins. She couldn't stay there. She had hardly even been there three weeks and now she had to drop this?

_Oh God._ Tears started to roll down her cheeks. Her drinking and smoking and even her and Eddie's cocaine binge. How long had she been pregnant? How much of that had affected her baby?

_My baby._

She laid her hands on her stomach. No bulge, no kicking. Yet.

Mario's was extremely slow that night, making her incredibly long day longer. The snow fell heavily outside, keeping everyone home. Brodie would be excited if she broke fifty in tips.

Murphy came in the last fifteen minutes and sat at her table. Mario piled food on his table and Murphy told jokes and stories, trying to get Brodie to crack a smile. When they left Murphy grabbed her, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Don't fucking pull that shit with me. You barely looked me in the eye all night long." He pulled her closer till she was forced to look him in the eye. "You gonna tell me?"

She held his stare. His eyes were intense, such a clear blue there were streaks of white that swirled around his pupil. She would admit she had a crush on this Saint. He probably realized it too, used it to his advantage, teasing her and flirting with her. The idea of an actual relationship with Murphy MacManus would never happy especially with the little miracle brewing inside her abdomen right then. "Fuck, Muprh. I'm pregnant."

His eyes widen and he stepped back. "Congratulations."

She rolled her eyes and started walking to the apartment.

"Wait!" He jogged up to her. "Chrissake, Brodie, wait for me. " He grabbed her arm. "Its Eddie's, right?"

She pulled away, "Of course it's fucking his! Who else would it fucking belong to?"

"No reason to get all pissy with me, Rod."

She was about to snap back but stopped. "Rod?"

"I'm Murph and Connor's Con—"

She stared at him, unsure of to cry or laugh. He pulled her in for hug, kissing the top of her forehead. The contact of his lips on her skin caused goose bumps to break out all over her body. "Its all right, you have us." He titled her head up. "It's a loyalty thing. Once you get us you have us."

"A fucking kid won't cramp the Saints style?"

"It'll be like Three Men and a Baby but instead of Steve Guttenberg, we have a Miss Bettie Page."

"Bettie Page?"

Murphy blushed, "It's what me and Con call you."

"I like it better than Rod anyway." She sighed. "But I won't be that much longer." She laid her hands on her stomach.

He laughed, "You'll still be beautiful if that's what you're worried about." He said before he caught himself. She looked up at him, her breath caught in her throat.

_Damn you, Murph_. She turned away. "What do I tell Connor?"

"Let me break it to him. He'll expect you to get emotional or something. He'll stress out about it." He looked over at her. "You keeping it then?"

"Yes," she wrapped her arms around herself. "That is, if I haven't already killed it."

He peeled off his coat and wrapped it around her, "What do you mean?"

"I've been drinking and smoking and me and Eddie had a drug binge a while back," she looked at Murphy. "What if that causes a miscarriage? What if I already killed my baby?"

"Wouldn't the doctor have realized that?"

She smiled and wrapped her arm around his waist. "Thank you."

"Come on, let's get you inside and get you a big, cool glass of milk."

"Wait," off to the side, a small head popped up from debris by a trash can. Brodie struggled not to squeal. "It's a German Shepherd!" It trotted over, no older than three months, its paws big and awkward with the bloated puppy stomach. It sniffed Brodie's ankles and she quickly dropped to one knee and scratched it behind its ears. "Oh God, I love German Shepherds. Look at its big bat ears." She looked up at Murphy. "It has no collar."

Murphy shook his head, "Fuck it. Grab it. We're coming home with a baby, might as well get a dog as well."


End file.
